The Pittsburgh Press (November 11, 1943)
Roving Reporter
By Ernie Pyle
This is the second in a short series of columns by Ernie Pyle about his impressions and experiences while enjoying a brief rest at home. Mr. Pyle soon will be back on the wat fronts to resume his epic reporting about our fighting men.
This is certainly an immodest kind of column for a fellow to be writing, but then of course I am an immodest fellow.
Which is just a way of introducing our thesis for today, entitled “What Does It Feel Like to Be a Celebrity?” The subject being, of all people, me in person!
I wouldn’t be writing like this except that people – all the way from Washington bellhops clear up to my own Aunt Mary on the farm – tell me that I am now a celebrity. So, let’s assume for purposes of no-argument that it’s true, and get on with our business of “what does it feel like to be one?”
Well, it feels pretty good. It has its ups and its downs. Every now and then you get sort of panicky. Once in a while you get resentful. Most of the time you just feel too rushed and a little bewildered, and kinda pleased.
I suppose the main thing is that 99 out of 100 of us are born with a certain amount of vanity, or pride, or egotism or whatever you want to call it. And when you hit a point where you’re recognized every time you step out, you can’t help but feel short of sparkly inside.
Furthermore, you get a lot of things by being “known” that you’d never get otherwise. I mean stores will get “shortage” articles from under the counter and sell them to you; railroad and airline men will give you a reservation after turning other people away; the plumber and the typewriter repairman, who aren’t accepting calls before a week from Saturday, will come immediately when you phone. All that is wonderful.
‘Blooey’ goes your private life
On the deeper side, I think anybody who tries as hard as I do to write a good column would be dishonest if he said the compliments of thousands of people meant nothing to him. The compliments of just one person mean a lot to me. When you finally get enough compliments to make you a celebrity, you feel hugely rewarded.
Celebrity, though, has its drawbacks. Your private life vanishes. The most sincere plaudits of people, when multiplied and piled too high, can become something obsessing you, claiming your life away from you.
Since returning to America two months ago, we have had hundreds and hundreds of offers, requests, demands, and even time-taking favors bestowed upon us. We have declined nearly everything proposed, yet the mere act of saying “No,” if you have to say it enough times, eventually consumes much of your time and most of your mind.
Under normal conditions, a man gives most of his time to his job and his family. That’s the way it should be.
But when the bolt of fame strikes, a guy better be mighty careful or he’s going to wind up giving most of his time to his new career of being a celebrity, and practically no time at all to his family and real friends. And the job which gave him prominence in the first place will be done merely at odd moments, with his mind on something else.
Ernie kids his famous self
I want to avoid that, and believe I can, but I think it takes a little practice. I’m not concerned that my head will be turned by too much attention; but I am concerned that lack of experience may make me fumble considerably before I learn the right method of achieving a balanced life again. Apparently, you just have to enlarge yourself inside, to make room for a little more than you’ve bargained for. It’s a harder nut to crack than you might think.
Actually, we have a lot of fun, my friends and me, kidding ourselves about this new fame.
For example, the day our book came out. The New York Times Book Review Section gave it the entire front page, and a wonderful review it was, too. So, after reading it through elatedly a couple of times, I thumbed through the rest of the section, and then said to my friend Lee Miller:
Why, the dirty so-and-so’s, they’ve also reviewed some other people’s books in this issue!
I think that on the whole I’m fairly safe from the perils of celebrity. For one thing, it came a little too late. I’m 43, and it doesn’t matter so much anymore.
My life has been pretty full and pretty pleasant; I’ve got most everything I ever wanted, but I’ve had some blows, too; I’ve contributed a little and received a great deal. Through the years, I did my job the best I could, and this is what happened. I didn’t plan it, and I didn’t ask for this, I could have done without it, but now that it’s here, I’m pretty sure I can take it.
As I said in the beginning, this is all kind of immodest. But it’s all kind of true, too.